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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551753">Floraison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamiaLuz/pseuds/DamiaLuz'>DamiaLuz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Magical Artifacts, Magical Tattoos, POV Original Female Character, Post-Canon, Veela Mates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:07:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamiaLuz/pseuds/DamiaLuz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>love is a rebellious bird<br/>that nobody can tame,<br/>and you call him quite in vain<br/>if it suits him not to come.<br/>— Georges Bizet, Habanera</i><br/><br/>where love won't stay in place for too long unless it has got a reason to stay. and what reason is duty for any sort of bird? not even one, in its surprisingly complex little bird brain, it thinks and flees. in its wake are left two hearts beating in sync, but an ocean apart. souls alike, so perfect together but a lifetime apart.<br/><br/>or, in other words, where the other had to protect her clan from war and the other was preoccupied by something else entirely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fleur Delacour's Grandmother/Original Female Character, Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>really, this story is a fleeting thought, one that might never come to full fruitition. but i still felt compelled to write it out. so, please don't expect much in terms of HP lore or update frequency. please and thank you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Amorgos Island, Greece</strong>
</p><p>1st of July 2003</p><hr/><p>"Longbottom!" She shouts, knocking on the youngin's door rather aggressively. "Lazy oaf, the chickens don't feed themselves!" Having the young man as her apprentice for close to three months now, Evangelia wasn't scared to call him names. While it could have been interpreted as unprofessional, she didn't really care. He was late for work, having gone to sleep much later than he was supposed to. Probably chatting with his girlfriend with that muggle device, Evangelia mused. Skype, did he call it? He was almost frothing at the mouth when he explained it to her, apparently some sort of network device that'd come on the market just this year. Evangelia wasn't one to miss out on information, no matter how useless, so she'd listened with half an ear.</p><p>"I- I'll be right there, Ms Polat!" The young man shouted from behind his door, multiple loud thumps following him. He'd probably fallen off the bed and bumped into the nightstand. Again.</p><p>"Just open the shop before ten, Longbottom. This is the third time, don't let there be a fourth!" She only sighed, knowing the clumsy young man meant well. He was very passionate about herbology and so a promising apprentice, but he had much to learn. Luckily Polats' Bloom wasn't a very popular flower shop, at least not in the mornings.</p><p>Walking away from his door, Evangelia Polat grumbled to herself. Young men these days, always so arrogant without even realizing. Well, maybe that was just her time catching up to her. Things were much different a near two-hundred years ago, after all. Now, it was time to feed the chickens. Going down the steps, past the sitting room and through the glass sliding doors, she stepped into the yard. Protective and illusionary wards hummed in the air, the magical veil placed on the territory rippling with her magic, feeding off of its master. Evangelia wasn't bothered by the greedy nature of the magic as she'd been the one to have cast it. Better have it sated and strong with a side of greed than malnourished and weak with a malicious streak.</p><p>From the outside, the shop was perched on the side of a hill, a white lime coated stone building that shone brilliantly in the midday sun. Its door was of thick rosewood, heavy and with painted black metal proofing and a circular window on the upper half of it. It was unusually sturdy for a flower shop, but the sign behind the window was a clear indication. In pretty cursive letters was written: Polats' Bloom. Above the doorway and the window was a small balcony. Persian ivy adorned the black metal railings, a basket of orchids and chrysanthemums perched on the top of it and wilden colours of annual vinca, ranging from a sweet kiss of crimson to a cool violet. It all seemed very idyllic, if a bit magical.</p><p>From the inside, however, past what the average patron or bystander could make out. A muggle-born couldn't see or sense the wards embedded to the calix, the runes cast by expert hands so professionally hidden they were happily fooled. Looking past the aesthetically pleasing flower shop's walls and into the narrow alley between the building next to it, you would see a gate. A gate of black metal, to each and everyone who looked at it, but past it was another thing. It depended on your blood if you would look there at all. The specific rune cast right into the entrance of the alleyway prevented muggles from wanting to even look there, subconsciously of course. Another ward sealed on the gate kept them from seeing past it, even if it was just a cage, not at all obstructing, at least by muggle-logic. A wizard or a witch would notice if they were looking and perhaps notice the magic trying to keep them away and investigate, but couldn't see past. A creature, however, would feel compelled to look and enter.</p><p>"C'mere, lovelies!" Evangelia cooed to the chickens, a bag of seeds in her hands. The hens came, gliding from their low perches and clucking excitedly, fluttering their wings. The woman couldn't help but giggle at their enthusiasm.</p><p>"It's almost lunch already, I'm afraid. Longbottom's been slacking off feeding you girls lately, I do apologize." She spoke to them calmly and as per usual they pecked at the seeds she scattered on the ground. Past the gate, you could see an acre of land, most of it an orchestra of different flowers. Big and small, subdued and loud, all of it meticulously well taken care of. If you entered through the gates, you could see the back of that idyllic lime building, now somehow wider and bigger than it seemed at the front. You'd see the forest of oaks, redwood and rosewood and a multitude of other variations of trees stretching high into the sky, protecting the gentle foliage of mosses and herbs at the bottom. You would see a woman of ambiguous age and race, feeding a bunch of strangely colourful chickens.</p><p>"I do hope you've enjoyed today's breakfast, but we will have to part, for now, girls," Evangelia spoke to them like a socialite, maybe a bit mockingly, but still with respect. Magical creatures were to always be respected, no matter how animalistic they seemed.</p><p>Checking the garden, she discovered her little pack of enchanted garden gnomes happily pulling rich, orange carrots from the ground. The tiniest ones were toppling onto their bottoms at the force of their pull, but looked happy nonetheless. She made a note to herself to repaint them, to reward them of their hard work. As the hens were still pecking away at the ground, looking around for more sunflower seeds, Evangelia seized the opportunity and went to collect their eggs from the coop. A woven basket with a cloth to cushion on her elbow, she chucked still warm, golden glowing eggs into it. Rubepulm chicken didn't lay golden eggs, only their goose counterparts laid pure gold, but the mineral they did produce was a valuable resource. A polished, warm variety of quartz, a very good fertilizer for magical based plant life, once ground, and not to mention an excellent addition to her spice-collection. High in protein, too, if your teeth could take it...</p><p>Very pleased with herself and almost forgotten Neville Longbottom's little mishap, Evangelia decided to treat the man to lunch. Maybe she'd been too harsh on him and he hadn't been able to sleep properly. She'd have to ask. He was her first pupil in a few decades, so perhaps she'd lost touch.</p><p>"Longbottom!" She hollered once she got back into the house. Knowing him, he was probably just standing about near the register, fidgeting for something to do. "Come here for a second, will you?" The clumsy footsteps stomped towards her and she knew he'd heard. Unloading the eggs into their inventory, Evangelia noticed the young man was being awfully quiet.</p><p>"I was just going to ask if you had any plans for lunch, but it seems there's something weighing on you." She spoke off-handedly, pretending she wasn't intrigued. "I'm making the stew for dinner, so we should have something light for lunch, yeah?" At his meagre nod, she continued. "Any customers?" He shook his head, still not saying anything. Huffing, Evangelia but her hands on her hips and widened her stance in the way she could vaguely remember her mother doing.</p><p>"Out with it, Longbottom," Using her stern, I-am-your-master-voice, she'd had enough of beating around the bush. Flushing in the way that he did, you'd think he was going to confess his undying love for you.</p><p>"Oh, I was- I was just, y'know, thinking that, since this is a flower shop and, like, you're a florist, you could- could maybe like-" He stuttered, almost pathetically if it wasn't so endearing.</p><p>"I said out with it." Not letting up, she wouldn't cave to his rather mousy tendencies.</p><p>"My friend is getting married and, uh, her spouse has really, really high standards. Like, royally high standards. Literally..." He mumbled the last part but she caught it just as well. "So I went and offered you to them. To be their flower person. Florist, if you will." <em>Florist, if you will,</em> this buffoon. Sighing deeply, Evangelia tried to reason with herself. This young man, barely in his twenties and his frontal lobe still developing.</p><p>"Do I take you for a person who takes gigs, Longbottom?" The man flinched, as he should. "I haven't left this island in decades and I will not be leaving without good reason. Playing wedding planner for a dazzled, glamourous couple is not a good reason."</p><p>"I mean, they offered to come here?" Neville questioned more than stated.</p><p>"That's not any better, but thank you. I suppose." Evangelia sighed and turned away. Looking at the clock on the wall, the one that told the time, and decided it could be worse. Definitely could be worse. She walked past him out of the kitchen and through the sitting room to the door leading into the shop but stopped when he didn't follow.</p><p>"You coming, boy?" He looked so confused she almost smiled.</p><p>"I- I just thought-" He stammered, hastily walking towards her as he fidgeted with his work apron.</p><p>"If they're going to come as customers, I won't turn them away. What they request will be up to them. Now, back to work, Longbottom!"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>switch to neville's point of view. follow as he goes about his day as a witch's (?) apprentice.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im bad at ao3, so if you see something odd, that might be it.</p><p>—<br/> <br/>[another language] is being spoken. as to what it is, will be in context.<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Amorgos Island, Greece</strong>
</p><p>2nd of July 2003</p>
<hr/><p>He hears Evangelia knock behind his door, like clockwork at exactly 8 in the morning. He's been a bit off schedule lately, having finally gotten the hang of the Skype thing Hermione had told him about. It made talking to Luna much easier, and mostly risk-free. Sure, there were times when his gadget would come to a total standstill, as electricity didn't do too well around magic. As excited as he got talking to Luna, causing stuff to sometimes levitate around him, it was only natural the tech went tits up at times. But it was time-consuming trying to get it to work again with how inept he was.</p><p>"I'm getting dressed!" He shouts back, past his cardigan, which was awkwardly stuck midway. Finally managing to get it over his head, Neville takes the pretty and shiny, warded cedar beads from his desk, loops them around his neck and leaves his room to start the day. At least he wasn't as late as yesterday. Jogging down the steps and thorough the sitting room, past the kitchen, he makes his way as he has grown used to. From the kitchen, he plucks a bowl of sliced peaches, which the lady of the house had cut for him. Taking a slippery slice into his fingers, he awkwardly slides open the door with his knee. Bit of a struggle, but the fruit from the great big garden was just too sweet to miss. Setting the porcelain bowl to the knee-high coffee table on the wooden platform before the doors, Neville licks his fingers to rid of the juice. The sun's just barely peeking into the garden, only licking at the highest treetops. The mist of the grassy parts of the field makes the place look unreal, like a tropical forest almost. Magical, truly.</p><p>"C'mon, ladies, it's time for breakfast!" He hollers, much liking to his master. When he'd first become Evangelia's apprentice, he'd been positively terrified, shitting bricks at the smallest reprimand. But he'd quickly gotten used to it, especially after learning more about the rather short woman. She liked talking to the chickens. The tattoos all over her body weren't actually tattoos, but ancient protective runes from a time he didn't know. She made it a point to have tea in the cupboards after he mentioned he felt homesick. She bought some weird beeping box and a bunch of cables so his gadget could talk with Luna. Over-all, minus the condescending smiles and snarky remarks, she was quite pleasant. Bitter in the way any grandma would be, except she didn't look like a grandma at all. But Neville knew she had to be old.</p><p>After the girls had gotten their fill, he checked the eggs. The hens laid eggs quite sporadically, it seemed today wasn't a good day. Humming as he retrieved his peach bowl, Neville struggled to open the sliding doors with his feet. Eventually, he sacrificed sticky fingers and pried them open. He walked to the kitchen in which was the tasks list that they had to complete by the end of the week. It was a chalkboard that had an enchanted sponge and a bit of chalk with a self-writing charm. Green was his colour and white hers and pink was a general task, like feeding the chickens, which either of them could do. Today, he'd have to work the morning shift and the rest of the day he'd be taking care of the great big garden. That was his favourite part of the day. There were so many magical and mundane species, all in a beautiful symbiotic function, to study and learn — it was so exciting!</p><p>In the evening he'd either follow Evangelia as she tended to the garden, catch up on his reading materials or review said material in-depth with his master. Observing her work was his favourite of the three because he felt he learnt the most seeing it all in action. Seeing how an expert did everything, how every touch seemed so fluid and confident, it made him want to become a master himself so badly. He walks through the sitting room and opens the door to the register. He settled behind the counter, a contented smile on his face. He has half a mind to check his remembrall and finds it a deep crimson. Oh! His apron!</p><p>Having retrieved his apron he goes and opens the shop. Casting a modified <em>Lumos </em>charm to the sign and opening the big wooden door, then placing the doorstop, that was pretty much it. He goes to the window again, though trips over a basket of cauliflower seeds in the process, and charms the bold CLOSED text to OPEN. When most of the premises were protected by advanced wards, layered and integrated expertly, there was little need for security measures. Really, it was comical how their big front door, as intimidating as it was, was protected by a single rusty bolt and a padlock.</p><p>No customers would come in a few hours, he presumes and gets to work. Next to the door is a bell, most think it's just a little something the quirky flower shop has for some odd reason, but its function is much more complex than just aesthetics. Turning it clockwise exactly one quarter, pausing, then another quarter, pausing, and then one last quarter. He then opens the door to the sitting room and enters the storage room. Evangelia is loading inventory from the outside and Neville waves her hello. His master nods but doesn't halt hauling the boxes. For being such a petite woman she sure has brawn, Neville can't help but notice. She had a really toned build, much more impressive than his skinny, flabby arms. She looked like she could maybe stand up to Ron with those guns.</p><p>"Stop your ogling, Longbottom, and get to packing the sunflower seeds. Save the usual for the girls." A bit flustered at getting caught, he tries to stammer out some excuse.</p><p>"Of course, ma'am, I was just, like, wondering why you would carry them yourself, I mean, you- you could, y'know, levitate-"</p><p>"Are you questioning my methods, Longbottom?" Being called Longbottom immediately associated with the slimiest Slytherin that ever slythered, so he couldn't help but shiver. In his horrification, he missed Evangelia's amused smile.</p><p>"Of course not, ma'am! I'll get to packing the sunflower seeds!" Taking the box, as broad as his chest and almost the whole length of his torso, Neville pretended not to struggle, bumped into the doorway and finally made it out and kicked the door shut behind him. Huffing out a stressed breath, he's about to turn the bell again, when he sees a customer idly standing near the register.</p><p>"Bloody hell!" He curses out in startlement, surprising the customer as well. "Sorry! Sorry..." He mumbles, before realizing his mistake. He places the big box behind the counter and straightens up to greet the customer.</p><p>"[Hello! Welcome to Polats' Bloom, how can I help you?]" Putting on his best customer service voice, the best he can do in a foreign language. Greek was quite hard, especially for someone with as thick of a skull as him. Neville smiles as kindly as he can with nervous sweat pearling on his forehead. But then the silence stretches and stretches, and then it's awkward.</p><p>"Uhhh... [Can- can you hear me? Ma'am?]" He tries to politely shake the elderly woman from her weird haze. He even waves a hand over her eyes, trying to get some sort of reaction. But no, the woman doesn't move, not even a bit. Neville isn't sure she's even breathing. Did she die standing up? She blinks and he almost yelps.</p><p>"Polat." She whispers, almost as if in a daze.</p><p>"Polat... Is she here?" She asks in English, a weird lilt to her voice. It was an accent of sorts, but not anything he was used to. Not like Parvati's Indian, not like Fleur's French, not even Viktor Krum's Bulgarian bore any sort of resemblance to this lady's way of talking.</p><p>"Uhmm... Ms Polat is my boss. She owns this shop." He mutters, a bit nervous. What if this was some sort of ruse? Was someone looking for Evangelia? What if he'd just given them away to some criminal organization or cult or-</p><p>"Brilliant." She hisses out, eyes bulging and face glistening with a sheen of sweat, looking like a heroin addict going through withdrawals. "I must report to the matriarch... I must- I must go! Thank you, graciously, young man!" The woman ran from the store much faster than what was characteristic for someone her age, but he supposed it checked out when she apparated as soon as she was outside. So a witch, someone who was seemingly looking for his boss, and was going to tell some matriarch something. He had to tell her as soon as he could.</p><p>"Slacking off, are you, Longbottom?" Her harsh olden Turkish drawl cut him out of his panicked thoughts.</p><p>"No! Ms Polat, there was someone who-" Neville tried to explain, but it seemed she was much too preoccupied.</p><p>"I have to run an errand, no time for a story. I'll be seeing you for dinner." She cut him off, not even looking his way as she tightened the knot on her floral print headscarf. "Güle güle!" Neville hoped the anguish he had painted on his face would've stopped her, but it didn't.</p><p>"Ms Polat!" He called after her, but she was out of the door. "Aw, shucks..." He muttered to himself. What should he do now, Neville pondered to himself. There was no other option than to wait for her to come back and then tell her.</p><p>Neville tried to find other tasks to keep himself busy, the little run-in with the old lady having shaken him — socially, mentally and physically. He sorted the sunflower seeds, which was a tedious but not very hard task. Some were to be pulverized into flour, some for the girls, some were to be roasted, some to be stored for other things. Evangelia especially liked glazing the seeds with different potions, such as Felix Felicis, for a little boost for the day. Then he was to check the displays and water them. Spray bottle in hand, he went around the shop, checking the moisture of the soil and then spraying. All the plants on display were mundane, so he only needed water to tend to them. Magical plants tended to be much more demanding. There was actually a breed of gillyweed that needed spiked (exactly 15.6% alcoholicity) lemonade to be of use in potion-making. Even the amount of sugar affected it. Bizarre.</p><p>Three customers came that day, one buying a pretty bouquet of peonies, the other a few roses. The third one had commissioned an arrangement of red and pink flowers for a funeral. It was a pretty standard day for the little island flower shop. Polats' Bloom, while suspiciously well off for such a small business, was one of the most popular places on the island. During the tourist season, which had just recently come to an end, the shop was buzzing with people from all over the world. Americans with their fanny packs (never failed to make Neville laugh), Brits with their sunburns, northerners quiet and mostly just happy to be there and big posh families from mideurope oohing and aahing at every flower. It was overwhelming, but after each hectic day, he had slept better than ever. It'd made him miss Luna even more, knowing if she were there, it would be ten times funnier dealing with rude customers. The shop attracted tourists with its aesthetically pleasing outside and even prettier inside. Locals loved the place just the same, but not many needed flowers often, especially in such a small village.</p><p>For lunch, he took some of Evangelia's ravioli. She had banned him from ever cooking again when she saw the monstrosities he committed with just eggs. And frozen meals she didn't tolerate, grumbling something about losing touch with the self, or something. Typical grandma tendencies. Neville definitely wasn't complaining, not when the woman was positively spoiling him with delicious Turkish cuisine almost every day. He munched on the food and read <em>Spirited Redwood and How to Recognize It</em>, which was one of his reading assignments. The book was quite good, as it had turned out. He'd told Hermione about it and had been pleasantly surprised when he found out she hadn't read it. It made him feel just a bit smug knowing he was reading a book she'd never heard of, especially when she got a bit short with him. Made his night, that letter.</p><p>By the time the sun was shining into the sitting room, Neville's shift had ended and Evangelia was home from her errand. He wasn't quite sure where she went, but he supposed that was her business.</p><p>"I'll heat up the stew." The first thing she said when she came into the sitting room. "I closed early for today. I'm tired." That worried him.</p><p>"Why? Was the errand weird, or something?" He asked, looking up from his book.</p><p>"You know the Argoryses." Ah, the family that owned the best (self-proclaimed) restaurant in the village.</p><p>"Oh, what'd he do?" Neville asked, knowing it was usually the father of the family that did most of the talking, and so, most of the insulting.</p><p>"The usual." She huffed as she summoned some elemental magic, fire, to her hands to heat up the pot. She was much too hungry to be taking time with the stove, as magically inclined as it was. The Argorys family head was known to make sexist, sometimes homophobic, remarks. The homophobic remarks he usually only made in the presence of the only gay couple ballsy enough to stay on the island, but as they were already so brave to even live there, they were rarely affected. They and Evangelia were the only ones bold enough to put him in his place, which only resulted in him targeting them more.</p><p>"I still remember when he smacked Tina Argorys on the buttocks," Neville mumbled as he helped himself to the delicious, steaming hot bowl of stew. Evangelia barked out a laugh, remembering the incident. The family head had been sitting in his own terrace, beer in hand and leering at the passerby. His niece, Tina, had come to take his empty pints as she worked shifts there and he, without hesitation, had smacked her right on the ass. At that moment, it felt as if everything had stilled. Then he saw her face, the face of his own relative, particularly that of Tina's. He had not gone red in mortification, but white in fear. Tina was a tough girl, with no exceptions, not even to her family — especially to her family. Neville hadn't been able to keep from belly laughing as the imposingly big man got smacked within an inch of his life by a stout, but half his height, teenager. Evangelia had been much more graceful, coyly giggling into her hand. She'd made sure to tip Tina extra for the free entertainment.</p><p>"That girl will make it to places." Evangelia chuckled as she too helped herself. Her bowl was slightly smaller than his as she liked to eat smaller portions. Neville doesn't know how she does it, when there's so much delicious food. How could she not gobble it all up? Well, more left for him, he supposed and just stuffed his cheeks full.</p><p>"We got a commission today," Neville told her off-handedly as they ate, both more focused on the food than the conversation at hand.</p><p>"Muggles?" Muggle and magical commissions differed greatly.</p><p>"Yeah, a funeral for Bouras."</p><p>"Oh, one of theirs again?"</p><p>"It's weird, right? They keep having funerals."</p><p>Eating such delicious stew, talking about the mess that was the Argorys family and the peculiarity of the Bouras family, the crimson glow of his remembrall went entirely unnoticed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>güle güle<br/><i> goodbye in turkish <i></i></i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>yet another change of pov, however much further away. witness how the mates to-be love in the midday sun.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Near Boule-d'Amont, France</strong>
</p><p>2nd of July 2003</p><hr/><p>It was almost noon when Hermione stirred. Usually, she'd be up and running already, a cosy mug of tea in hand and debating going on a walk around their newly acquired plot. This morning, however, she has no such plans, she admits to herself smilingly. Breaking from routine doesn't sound so bad, not when you have the loveliest woman in the whole wide world right here, in your arms. Her mind was filled with disgustingly sweet and cheesy thoughts, all about the woman currently lying on her chest. But it was alright. It was alright to be in love, she was finally beginning to realize — and accept.</p><p>Fleur's usually perfectly kempt hair was but a birds nest, her immaculately made-up face exuding power and grace, now smushed to Hermione's sternum. The pristine image had molten into a domestic, homey and totally comfortable sort of beauty. A beauty so natural and unfiltered it made Hermione's chest flutter like a hummingbird around the sweetest flower and head feel huge and heavy. Closing her eyes and breathing in deeply, she pressed closer to her fianceé, arching into her body. The hands that she'd draped over Fleur's waist trailed up the line of her spine, touch feather-light as to not awaken her. Hermione reaches the nape of the other's neck and wounds her hands into her hair. Her slightly calloused hands find purchase on Fleur's soft skin, the smooth lines of muscles feeling just so nice to touch. Hermione feels like she'd die if she didn't get to touch her girlfriend, her fianceé, her wife. Somehow touching, which had once been as scalding as getting a kettle's worth of tea poured into your lap, had become a visceral need. What had once felt like a Fiendfyre's coil around her forearm, when Fleur traced wonderful pet names over the cruel words branded to her skin, then became just as insignificant as any scrape on her knee. </p><p>"Mmm, feels nice..." The veela stirs in her sleep, roused by Hermione's big hands massaging her scalp. "Don't you dare stop," She loved being pampered like this. It made her feel so proud, so confident, having someone like Hermione. Maybe it was the possessive nature of veela, but all the same, it was love, right? Hearing Hermione giggle, feeling the reverberating on her chest, Fleur cracked her eyes open and glanced up into her love's eyes. It was definitely love.</p><p>"Good morning," Hermione spoke in a tone so tender and intimate, only for Fleur's ears, that the veela felt tingles climb down her spine and the fronts of her thighs. "You're feathering." She made an astute observation, caressing the soft, fluffy feathers sprouting on the nape of Fleur's neck and shoulders. The feathers extending from the middle of her chest were less fluffy but still felt nice against Hermione's side. Fleur purred, the creature inside voicing its approval at the preening their mate was doing for them. With or without realizing it, as Hermione sleepily traced patters on Fleur's back, particularly her shoulder blades, more and more feathers popped from under her skin. Eventually, there was a series of quick pops, like the sound of cracking knuckles, and Fleur jumped a bit against her.</p><p>"Oh, your wings." Hermione made yet another astute observation, which made the veela still pressed to her side huff in equal exasperation and amusement.</p><p>"I didn't think you'd notice, mon amour." Fleur poked playfully, purposefully extending the wings to all their six-meter span. Hermione only hummed, too busy admiring the great exemplification of why she was grateful to be a witch. I mean, it was a dream of many muggles to be able to fly, and here it was. A human, a muggle, would never be able to fly with its own wings. For a human to be able to take flight like a bird, the length of them was too great to be sustainable — they'd be too heavy and the body, particularly the spine, would be unable to support the posture needed to fly. Only someone with magic coursing in their veins, with more affinity to transforming than just a regular witch or wizard, could get past the physical restriction that was on a humanoid body. Fleur's wings vaguely resembled those of a goshawk's, a mix of a very light shade of beige, almost blonde and an angelic white. They were clearly muscular, even under the feathers. Gently carding her fingers through, Hermione sat upright. She was totally bare under the blankets, but she let them fall even still. She was past the point of insecurity, at least with Fleur. Hermione knew Fleur loved her scars just as she loved her entirety, her soul.</p><p>"Is that a good spot?" She asked, more rhetorically than actually when the winged woman began purring. Fleur didn't answer, only purred louder when Hermione prodded at a particularly itchy or tense spot. Back when their relationship had just been beginning, Hermione had been apprehensive about the veela shifting forms, considering she only knew those sort of bodily changes to be agonizing at best. Werewolves being the leading cause of this stigma, the pain and the risk of the first animagus shift being a close second. But as time had passed and she'd learned more, she got to know that for veelas the shift was not at all agonizing, painful or risky. The opposite actually.</p><p>In Veelan history, they resembled their kinmates, the harpies. As society progressed, however, the veela kin was forced to accommodate to the new standards of beauty, let alone acceptability, and so their natural form began to recede. It was not to say they had been weakened because the veelas remained a strong and proud race, but what once was had been lost. Historic veelas were on average much larger than today's veelas and remained in the form that the veela now considered a full-transformation. Hermione found it fascinating how evolution affected even the magical side of creatures, though it was to be expected.</p><p>"We're going to have to go to mother's house today," Fleur mumbled into her pillow, curling her arms around it while Hermione preened her feathers. She didn't want to get up. Never ever.</p><p>"Ah, what's Apolline been up to?" They had just recently moved into the house, after their wedding in Cornwall with a close bunch of friends and family. They were now in the Delacour clan's territory, inhabiting the house designated for the inheriting pair of the clan. Previously, Fleur had been living with the flock in one of the bigger buildings, nests as the clan called them, but now that she had a mate and as she was the heir, she was to live in a slightly more secluded location. Perhaps a bit embarrassing, considering the history behind the tradition was that newly mated pairs had a high libido and sparsely separated, but Hermione was quite happy with the predicament. Fleur had had a bit of a hard time getting used to the silence though, so she'd been in close contact with her mother. Hermione knew her partner well and so wasn't worried about Fleur's slight homesickness.</p><p>"She is well." Fleur paused for a moment. "I'm glad actually, to be away from the nest. If I was, there would be no way she would let me spend any time with my wife."</p><p>"Hmm, why's that?"</p><p>"She's planning the mating ceremony." She sighs and slumps into the mattress when Hermione plucks out a broken feather. "You know her. Once she gets excited the only way she's coming down is if papa swoops her away. He's handling ministry business in Spain right now, so the nest will have to deal with her shenanigans."</p><p>"And we're going there to..." Hermione trailed off, hoping Fleur would fill her in.</p><p>"We'll be signing invitations. Naturally, the clan will be there because it is my mating ceremony and I'm the heir." Fleur pushed herself up, seemingly with great difficulty with her almost liquified muscles. "Allied clans need to be delivered formal invitations, forgoing doing so could lead to breaking the treaties. Any outsider, non-veela attendants are going to have to be considered and granted temporary access past the wards." She kissed Hermione on the cheek before her eyes grew misty, a faraway look that seemed a bit too melancholy for the sunny day. Hermione brushed her knuckles on the veela's jaw, hoping to break her from the sudden change of mood.</p><p>"It is also the mating couple's duty to seek audience from five watches of gnol." Hermione had never heard of this.</p><p>"What? What's 'gnol'?" Fleur seemed surprised for a moment she didn't know.</p><p>"Ah, I suppose it is only natural... The existence of gnol is an ancient and dearly held secret within the community. Gnol was our kin, much like the harpies. The harpies descend from gnol and veela, though there is more to that, that's a history lesson for another time." Finally getting up from bed, Fleur walked the short distance from their bed to the wall large, floor-to-ceiling window and pulled the sheer white curtains open to gaze down at their backyard.</p><p>"They weren't always a secret. It... It was a great tragedy in our history. The events are taught in late veelan education, seeing as the chain of events is so tragic and... grotesque." Hermione was beyond fascinated, but more so concerned for her wife. She got up from the silken sheets and walked behind Fleur, stroking the quickly fading scarring where her wings had receded back into her skin. The veela sighed, relaxing as Hermione's bigger hands took her own in their grasp. The contrast between her pale, sometimes seeming iridescent skin and her wife's shade of pu'erh tea, rich and glowing like a sun goddess made her feel like they truly complimented each other. While it was perhaps a bit superficial, but the aesthetic of their join made the veela in her puff it's feathers proudly. They were creatures of beauty, after all, so it was only natural for them to seek an attractive mate. Hermione was just as ravishing in her physical form that she was in her mind, heart and soul.</p><p>"What happened to them?" Fleur turned within the cage of her arms and wound her own around Hermione's neck, coiling her fingers into the shorter woman's wilden bed-head. The dark brown, almost black, locks of her hair felt soft to the touch, courtesy of Hermione's own meticulous care for her curls as well as her wife's adoring nurturing. When the bathed together, which was more often than one would think, they wouldn't get out before Fleur had washed, conditioned and did god-knows-what or else she'd throw a tantrum. It much resembled how Gabrielle had behaved when she was younger when Apolline had taken some of her toys away. Since one incident involving such a remark and close to three months of agonizing chastity on Hermione's part, she now knew better than to compare the sisters, at least in that sense.</p><p>"There are books on them and our shared history in the grand library in maman's residence." Fleur kissed her spouse on the nose before fluttering away from her, light on her feet and almost gliding across the floors. Hermione stood stock still, mesmerized by her one's beauty and grace. Oh, how lucky she was, listening to Fleur's tinkling giggles in the bathroom.</p><p>"Join me, mon amour," Fleur called and Hermione would sooner be dead than disobedient.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The news have reached the matriarch and the whole of the Delacour clan, it seems. Hermione begins learning of her spouse's species' history, but she still can't figure out why it's all relevant. Patience, Hermione, patience.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'll be honest, this chapter is mostly just information dumping disguised as dialogue. call me lazy, because i am.</p><p><i>French</i> is being spoken</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>To say that their day had been hectic would’ve been an understatement. Since they’d bathed and gotten dressed in their marital manor and enjoyed the not-too-lengthy-not-too-brief trek to the centre of the territory, things had become much more severe. The Delacours’ territory was nestled in the rising cliffs of the Pyrenees mountains, edging close to the Spanish border. They dwelled mostly in southeastern France, though with portkeys and other means of magical transportation had smaller locations along the Mediterranean coast that served a multitude of different purposes. The veelan village by its appearance could’ve passed as just another old Southern French or Spanish village. The only difference really was the magic simmering in the air and the fact that people gliding in the air was considered the norm. Here were located the nests and most other communal clan buildings. And it was all swept in chaos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione was stunned. Never before had she seen the clan collectively in such panic. Fleur seemed just as flabbergasted, though hers was less confusion and more… How could she even describe that face? She seemed to know exactly what was going on, what was wrong, but as if she couldn’t believe it. Hermione took her wife’s hand, taking her attention away from the feathering, fluttering crowds and planting it onto herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s find Apolline.” She said decisively, seeing how shaken and out of it, Fleur was. The veela was most often the stronger one between the two of them, it was in her nature after all to protect and guard, so to see her rendered so vulnerable was enough for Hermione to know she would have to take the lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur nodded weakly, seeming far away, but Hermione led her through the throngs of the crowd with purpose. The matriarch’s manor was the broadest building around the circling plaza. Despite walking at a hurried pace, Hermione took some time to observe her surroundings. While it was disconcerting that everyone, perhaps even literally everyone, was out and about and running all over the place, there was no palpable fear in the air. It wasn’t like people were moving to a certain place collectively, to escape. While the energy was charged very similarly high to the time when Death Eaters had made their comeback during the Quidditch World Cup, the tone of the place wasn’t the same at all. As Hermione continued to look on, she began to see the giddy smiles and the jittering excitement. Looking behind her where Fleur trailed, holding her hand in a clammy grip, she saw that Fleur wasn’t afraid either. Perhaps apprehensive, but not afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were maybe a dozen feet from the large doors of the matriarch’s manor when the doors burst open as a flurry of half-shifted veelas skipped out. Each of them had a stack of parchment in their hands and began to hand them out like flyers to other eager veelas, much like how muggle advertisers on the street did, except now with an actually receptive clientele. Hermione rubbed her thumb over Fleur’s knuckles and pulled her in closer. Hand in hand, they walked in to find the matriarch. Didn’t take long at all, it turned out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My daughters!” Apolline Delacour, the reigning matriarch of the Delacour clan, descended down the grand staircase, smiling wide and happy while her husband Leopold followed faithfully. The glass globe on the ceiling allowed sunlight to light up the hall and as Apolline stepped into the direct sunlight, Hermione had to keep in a gasp. It was no secret that it wasn’t a possibility for a veela to be ugly. Naturally phenomenal skin, healthy hair and, oddly enough, always good hygiene allowed for little imperfections. Everything was always aesthetically pleasing. It was practically in their blood to take care of themselves, to treat themselves and, in some cases, to attract a mate. Apolline however, while she absolutely had the same quirk as her daughter of being unnecessarily glamorous in casual situations, was not in search of a mate. Yet she was practically oozing thrall that was calling even to her daughter’s spouse, who was very much in love with another, dressed in silks so expensive Hermione would’ve probably fainted if she were to see the price tag of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My daughters, you ‘ave come at just the right time! I have joyous news to share with you!” Before Hermione has a chance to, in her usual eloquent manner, ask ‘what the fuck’ Fleur has already walked several steps ahead of her and taken her mother’s hands. Apolline smiles gentler than her previously ecstatic one, Hermione can’t see Fleur’s face, but the way her thrall pulls at her she can tell she’s emotional. Placing her palm on Fleur’s hip, she decides to ask her questions later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It… Is it true, maman? Is it… Truly?” Her wife’s tone is fragile but strong in the sense of how hopeful it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oui, ma colombe, we found ‘er.” The way a sob bursts through Fleur makes Hermione panic, but as the elder veela pulls her daughter close with a laugh, she finds herself terribly confused. The two veelas giggle, seeming as if they’re inebriated or something. Hermione looks to Leopold, only to find a similar dopey smile on his face. She then remembers he was supposed to be away from the clan at least for another week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm, ladies,” She starts, squeezing Fleur’s waist to get her attention. The veela gives it readily, wiping the tears that stuck to her eyelashes like crystals. “What exactly is going on here.” Her tone is more of a statement than a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A miracle, petit lion, a true miracle!” Apolline lifts her arms as if in victory and shakes her fists. She then makes a full turn and flourishes away, taking off with Leopold trailing at her heels like a puppy in love. “Come, girls! We have a lot to do!” Fleur pulls her to follow her mother deeper into the mansion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” Hermione whispers to Fleur, still utterly out of the loop. The veela giggles and wraps herself around her arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about our mating ceremony. We’re going to have to make a few changes.” As Hermione’s lips begin to pull into a scowl, Fleur is quick to reassure her. “Good change! Good change.” Hermione is still doubtful but nods nonetheless. Since the years of being together with Fleur, she’s learned to trust her no matter what. The very beginning of their relationship defined that since Fleur couldn’t just blurt out all the ancient veela secrets her family kept. At least not when she and Hermione were just getting to know each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s when it really got hectic. The previous events had boggled Hermione’s mind like no else had, aside from perhaps that basilisk thing back in school, but heroics aside, it’d been a long time since she’d been so ignorant of her surroundings. She hated it. She hated not knowing. But future her begged to differ, though. Not knowing would’ve saved them a lot of effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We found a full-blooded gnol!" Is the very first clarification that Hermione gets. Fleur and Apolline cheer, holding hands and hopping in circles like school girls. It is quite unsettling to see an authority figure like the Delacour clan’s matriarch do something so childish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what exactly does that mean for our mating ceremony? What’s a gnol in the first place?” The two veelas don’t hear her, but Leopold does. The wizard’s ageing face is still handsome, would most likely be until his death, and his smile is almost as radiant as his wife’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll remind Apolline to lend some books about them from the inner library,” The library was another communal clan building, but beyond public use was also the vault which contained ancient Veelan scripts and artefacts. “I can still explain, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you want to know?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He switches to his native tongue as he speaks it better than english. Hermione has been studying french all her life one way or another, so she doesn’t mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, Fleur mentioned they’re veela kin and that harpies descend from them.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Leopold nods, biting his lips to keep from smiling as the mother and daughter whistle and chirp in the Veelan language. It was impossible for anyone who wasn’t veela by blood, even if they were bonded or part of the clan, to ever learn it. It made it all the more mysterious and beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, that is right. Veela and Gnol are ancient creatures, perhaps older than wizards and witches. Before, there was no transformation, only one form, which would now be considered a full transformation.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Leopold sighs before continuing. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>As time went on and the judgement innate to humankind began to rear its head, a change in the Veelan and Gnolian societies was needed. The bestial beauty that used to be so alluring was suddenly the devil’s call, an evil spirit eating away at innocent men. To survive, the Veelan and Gnolian people had to learn how to conceal their true forms. However, not everyone wanted to change.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermione was properly invested in Leopold’s story and didn’t even notice Fleur perching on her thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>A divide formed in the communities. Those, who didn’t want to change either died in the hands of man or lost themselves to the rage. Harpies are creatures of spite, nowadays often mislabeled as purely evil, but more misunderstood. Scorned and wounded, pride stripped from them, all that is left is wrath.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Fleur nuzzled her nose into Hermione’s cheek. The younger woman wound her arms around the veela securely, holding her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Those Veelans and Gnolians that accommodated the change weren’t entirely safe either. You see, as they began to resemble humans, the witches particularly, men still weren’t kind. No, they became even more vicious, especially towards the Gnolian.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermione glanced at Fleur, who looked be seething with barely contained anger. The skin of her cheekbones was sharpening, feathers spreading along her jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Veelas are even today characteristically tall, angular and oftentimes, uhm… Androgyne…” He switched back to english for a moment. The oddities of being bilingual, random shifts in tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Androgynous.” She helped a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>androgynous, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyway… The Gnolian however were built distinctly femininely. As you know, veelas are most times described as an all-female species, that is not the case. While the veela don’t abide by the norm of male and female in terms of sex or gender for that matter, there are distinctions in Veelan sex. The so-called Veelan male is outwardly not very different from the so-called Veelan female. Back then the difference was just large enough for the Veelans to protect their own kin, but as the Gnolians had no such protection were most vulnerable.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Fleur’s fingers found themselves knotting into Hermione’s curls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Even in their ancient form or fully transformed state, the Gnolians weren’t big by any means. Smaller than human women on average. They had wings and feathered similarly to veelas. Their wings weren’t meant for flight, however, as much as they were for gliding and their feathers were mostly earthy in colours. It was meant to disguise them, to defend rather than to offend like the bright colours of Veelan feather patterns.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Apolline had settled against her husband, leaning her head on his broad chest, partially exposed by a half unbuttoned button-up. The man had hair like a werewolf on a full moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“With their feminine forms desired by wizards and witches alike, against masses of people they were unable to defend themselves. The Gnolians quickly dwindled in numbers. The Veelans and the Gnolians weren’t foreign to one another, oftentimes even bonded together, but veelas couldn’t provide enough protection, not when their own were hunted just as much. Creature hunting became popularized then as blood supremacy started to become a thing. Kept in iron cages and sold off as slaves, wings clipped and feathers harvested for trophies and potions, it was a tragedy, genocide.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Leopold took a deep breath and Apolline took his hand in her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gnols' distinguishing feature from veelas is their singing. The Gnolian Birdsong is a sound described as a blessing. To hear it is a once in a lifetime experience. It is how they find their mates.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermione gulped on a dry mouth. “Their vocal cords would be extracted. The procedure was extremely painful, seeing as the gnol had to be alive during it for the organ to retain its magical properties. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bodies spotted with scabs like rash from getting their feathers pulled out, gaping wounds burnt to stop bleeding where wings used to grow, throats slit open — </span>
  </em>
  <span>there are</span>
  <span> vivid descriptions of all the inflicted pain in the books. There… There is much more. Depraved, it is.</span>
  <em>
    <span> As a warning for the Veelans, the mangled bodies were dumped on their territory. This territory. The burial site is up North.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Before Hermione could even begin to process what had been said, a new voice rang from the sitting room’s back entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why, why are we sharing such dim stories? It is not even nearing supper.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Fleur’s grandmother, Titanya, elusive as ever walked into the room. Once again Hermione was reminded of the power of the full-veela. She was tall and lean, her features defined and angular, extremely fit and muscular. Her very pores leaked thrall and Hermione knew it was all unconscious, which she wasn’t sure was a good thing as alluring as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Come now, let’s go to the library.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Titanya beckoned them to follow her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Actually, we shall go to the memorial lands first. I was a child during those times, so perhaps I can offer some experienced insight on the matter. It is important that the future of the Delacour clan is well-versed in our history.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, I guess so, Hermione agreed rather mindlessly.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>any typos or grammatical errors are a result of my carelessness, so try not to mind them too much. i guess. thanks.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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